Distractions
by Darkeyes17
Summary: G1 Complete: Sunstreaker knows the perfect way to distract his lover from work. Ratchet/Sunny, gift/req fic for Katea-Nui. Rated for sticky slash. PWP.


A/N: Req for Katea-Nui. Hopefully this will get her creative juices going for her fics. Because right now I'm full of juice for one-shots (not my turning point fic, however -_-'). Anyway, you know that I don't own Transformers.

**WARNING: **STICKY SLASH! Mech on mech, you know the drill with me. Consider yourselves warned.

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><p><strong>Distractions<strong>

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><p>Hearing the doors to his medbay cycle open, Ratchet turned to look, grunting in greeting as his lover sauntered in, before turning back to his datapad on the recent battle figures and what supplies he'd need. He had read another paragraph before the inevitable interruption occurred and he felt warm breath ghost over his shoulder.<p>

"Ratchet."

"Yes, Sunstreaker?" the medic asked grumpily, not rising to the bait.

There was a low chuckle and a warm body pressed up against his back, arms sliding from his shoulders down to engulf his hands. Knowing what his lover wanted, Ratchet growled, "I am working. And although the concept may be somewhat foreign to you, these datapads need to be read and-"

"Shh," whispered Sunstreaker, hunching over the other's form. "You're wound up so tight, Ratch…wonder if your valve is the same?"

Ratchet swung around in his chair, coming face to face with the golden twin, who was smirking at him with lust darkening his usually lighter optics. He growled again. "Not now! I am on duty." Although he couldn't deny the unexpected warmth he felt that Sunstreaker found him desirable at any time of the day.

The shapely lipplates curved into a salacious smile and purred, "That's never stopped you before, baby. It's also not the first time we've done it here."

"We were in a private room before!" protested Ratchet, not liking where this was going. Because if it was…then he was going to lose (no matter how gratifying the end result of the loss of his strength of will might be).

Those sinful lips turned towards his audio, hot breath making him shiver. "Take a walk on the wild side, Ratchet. It'll be fun and oh so good for you. You know I make it good."

"That is beside the point," Ratchet argued, trying not to focus on those lips as they slid from his audial to hover above his lips, warm air from the exhalations breathed into him. Damn it! Sunstreaker and Sideswipe always made him feel like a hormonal mech who had just discovered his interfacing equipment. He could already feel the liquid arousal pooling in his abdomen, his valve and spike signalling their eager status.

Damn. It.

"Want to make you relax, make you feel so good." The whispered words were not mere words, but lustful promises, curling through the air to the medic's audials where they scorched the message inside his processor, making him _want._

"You glitching, sexy, insatiable twin!" cursed Ratchet, pressing forward and claiming Sunstreaker's lips in acceptance of the offer, abandoning his work and diverting all his energy to the kiss, the smug smirk of his lover lost in the simmering fire of passion. His arms wrapped around the warrior's neck and pulled him forward, pressing their entangled mouths harder together. With a low growl, the yellow mech's arms wrapped around his lover and pulled him up so that they were both standing, mouths battling for dominance and glossae duelling fiercely.

Sunstreaker growled into the kiss, melting any resolve left in Ratchet – his kneejoints buckled, and he found himself laid out on the bench he had been working on. He hissed in discomfort as the blunt edges of the datapads dug into his back.

"Sunny!" the medic half scolded, half gasped.

"Too rough for you?" Sunstreaker teased, smirking, pulling Ratchet into another kiss and controlling it, claiming Ratchet.

Ratchet couldn't reply. His insides felt like they had turned to jelly. He moaned into the kiss as the front liner leaned over him possessively and almost making him lose all coherent thought…almost.

"The door's not locked," hissed Ratchet, breaking off the kiss to squirm around, trying to get out of the hold.

"And?" asked Sunstreaker, brushing off the concern easily.

"Someone can come in and see-"

"A really good show. They'll be jealous, I assure you."

Oh how the medic wanted to wipe that tantalizing grin off his lover's face. "Exhibitionist!" he accused, breaking off into a gasp as a knowing hand found the sensitive seam on his side, stroking up and down it slowly, teasingly, sending his circuits buzzing with fresh charge.

"You flatter me. But if it'll soothe you, I have a solution," the golden twin purred, pulling a strip of black cloth out of his subspace and dangling it over his lover's face.

"By gagging me?" Ratchet asked flatly.

The grin got wider. "No…blindfolding you, so that if a mech does accidentally happen to walk in here, you'll never know who it is."

He wanted so badly to point out the many flaws in that plan, but nodded anyway. Besides…this was doing wonders for his secret kinks. The lustful optics grinning down on him, yet somehow shining adoration through, were the last things Ratchet saw as the cloth was placed carefully over his optics, wrapped around his helm and tied securely. He could see nothing.

Which is why he cried out when a hot mouth suckled and nipped at his windshield, trailing down to his abdomen and running a silky glossa over the plating, finding seams and sensor nodes like it was born to do it, sending his sensor net spinning with sensation.

Sunstreaker growled, the sight of his medic spread over the bench top, hands gripping the edge and mouth parted in a moan, so sexy and appetising. How could Ratchet blame his raging sex drive every time he saw him?

Dropping to his knees, he placed his mouth over the hot interface panel, smugly knowing it was already wet – the tang of lubricant filling his olfactory senses – and relishing in the shaky gasp and the delicious writhing of the white body.

Tapping the panel with his glossa and smoothing his hands over white thighs to hold the medic in place, Sunstreaker purred, "Open up."

Total surrender was in the simple gesture of Ratchet clicking open the lower panel.

His lust heightened when he saw that Ratchet didn't open up the top half of his panel. "Oooh, want your valve pounded nice and hard today baby? You're so wet already, dripping and clenching in on yourself, all for me…all mine and mine alone, for once," Sunstreaker murmured.

"Nngh," groaned Ratchet. Without his sight, each sensation seemed tripled. The vibration from the lowly spoken words was amplified, feeling like a vibrator was at the mouth of his valve, the words themselves making him quake in anticipation – they were lust wrapped in sinful delight. The hands on his thighs, holding him open for the desiring inspection felt warmer than usual, stronger than usual. And his nodes, oh! How his nodes were hypersensitive to compensate for the sensory deprivation of his optics. Every air current, either from the medbay air conditioning or from his lover's mouth, slid over his plating like a lover's touch, arousing him.

"Your valve looks so _succulent_, Ratchet, begging for my glossa to enter and lap up all those sweet juices."

The medic barely had a second to process the words before Sunstreaker carried it out, glossa swirling once around the sensor-laden rim and delving in, lapping at the rich lubricants slicking the valve.

"Sunny! OH!" gasped Ratchet, hips bucking up in vain as strong hands held him in place.

The golden mech hummed in satisfaction, wriggling his glossa everywhere, sweeping over the walls, over the sensors, sucking the lubricant into his mouth and down his throat like it was high-grade.

"Aaah, ahh, oh…" groaned the medic, lost in electric pleasure.

Sunstreaker slowly took his glossa out of the quivering, clenching channel, smirking at the frustrated keen of his lover and the blind hands that reached down for him. He stood, licking the purple-ish lubricant off his stained faceplates, and he murmured, "Don't want you too excited, baby…I want to overload with you."

"You and Sides always _tease!_"

On the word 'tease,' the medic was flipped over by sure hands, bent over the bench, and was steadily penetrated by a hard spike. Sunstreaker growled as he hilted himself, pressing his front intimately over Ratchet's back and bestowing open mouthed kisses to the nape of the neck. His lover was so wonderfully tight, no matter how many times they interfaced, and his hands were digging gouges into the work bench as his spike filled him.

"You…and my valve…you're obsessed!" Ratchet panted, the sensual feel of the hot rigid piece inside of him stroking over his sensors so wonderfully.

A low chuckle in that deeper register Sunstreaker used in the berthroom. "I am. And you love it. You love it when I talk about how pretty your valve is, how I love being inside of you and filling you to the hilt."

The medic shivered at the tone as it vibrated through him, the Lamborghini engine revving against his back. It was too true.

In an action as smooth as silk, Sunstreaker slid out a little and then back in, a teasing friction, feeling the heat encase him and tighten exquisitely. He did it again, eliciting a frustrated moan from his lover. He purred, nuzzling Ratchet's neck once more, before standing straighter. The tenseness of the frame below him told that the medic knew what was to come next. He _relished_ it.

Ratchet cried out as the golden twin pulled all the way out and slammed back in to begin a fast, almost brutal pace if it wasn't for the fact that he was so slick, so wanting, so heedless of anything but the nirvana that interfacing with either twin always gave him. The blindfold caused his processor so zero in on all sensation – the feel of those larger hands, so used to maiming, running over his back and sides in sensual caresses; the length of his lover pounding in and out of him, the blunt head of the spike always brushing briefly over that one spot that could get him to overload if one touched it long enough. His sensor net was flaring with the pleasure data, and he felt like his circuits were running so hot that he would melt. Sunstreaker was such a perfect distraction.

"C'mon baby, I want to hear you moan," purred the yellow warrior, tilting his helm back for a moment and shuttering his optics in bliss.

This was heaven. The feel of such a strong and slick valve spiralling down on him with each thrust was so good, the gratification of seeing his lover strutless with pleasure and mouth open to suck in more air.

"Sunny," moaned Ratchet obligingly.

Sunstreaker's hands tightened on his hips for a moment, but no pain registered, only pleasure from the slightly tweaked wires.

Slowing his pace a fraction, the taller mech circled his arms around his medic's waist and gathered him up, causing an abrupt cry to echo from the medic's mouth.

"Easy. Just making ourselves a little more comfortable," Sunstreaker soothed, barely able to keep a groan out of his voice from the change in the angle his spike was in the valve, standing and walking over to Ratchet's chair and sitting on it. It seated Ratchet even more deeply on his spike, and he moaned at the feel. The white mech rocked his hips down, actions a little uncertain, so the yellow twin helped him out.

With tender hands, Sunstreaker placed Ratchet's hands on the arm rests, letting their pelvic spans align, Ratchet's back pressed to his front. Purring and pressing a kiss to the back of the helm, he asked, "Okay Ratch? You liking it?"

"If I didn't I would have got my wrench out and threatened you with it," the medic purred back, getting a little more of his self-control back, pleasured and blindfolded as he was.

Growling, the larger mech said, "One day I'm going to tease you with that wrench by getting it, tying you up and making you watch as I let it play in my valve…you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Gah! Yes! You never stop teasing, you know?" gasped Ratchet as Sunstreaker rocked up into his sensitised channel.

The yellow twin said not another word, his hands moving to cup his lover's waist and began their pace anew, pistoning their hips in tandem, lifting Ratchet up and down his spike while they rocked their hips together, trading paint scrapes every now and then, but Sunstreaker couldn't care at the moment. All he knew was that Ratchet was close to overload, his lubricant trickling out of his stretched opening as he thrust, the sensitive medic hands that Sideswipe liked to play with tightening on the armrests.

"Nnngggh," groaned Ratchet, hearing an answering moan of appreciation from the mech who was thrusting into him as he tightened the muscle cables and callipers in his valve.

Sunstreaker buried his helm in Ratchet's shoulder, sucking on the wires there, one hand moving from the waist to clutch at the chestplates in a possessive move. He could find no words of how good this felt, how pleasurable the sensations were – the words to describe seemed so cheap compared to the strength of emotion and feel. His member juddered in the tight channel, spurred by the sensors triggered, about to burst with fluid, but he held his overload.

He wanted Ratchet to go first.

Swivelling his hips as best he could in the chair, Sunstreaker smirked as he heard the medic astride him let out a keening mewl, a sound so delicious it was hard to contain his own overload.

Gripping onto the armrests like it was his last lifeline, Ratchet felt as he was tipped forward, almost over the precipice of pleasure, but unwilling to let go even as the pressure built in his abdomen, his entire body humming in arousal. The hand on his chestplates dipped into a seam and fondled his wires, prompting him to overload.

With one last stroke of the spike over his sweet spot, Ratchet overloaded hard, tension ebbing as he rode out his climax, clenching down on his lover's hot, throbbing length and moaning and keening as he did, writhing slightly as he reached the peak and slumped down onto broad yellow chestplates, spent, even as Sunstreaker hadn't reached his own overload.

"Oohh Ratch," groaned Sunstreaker, thrusting in hard a few more times into the soaked opening, his optics rolling into the back of his helm as he overloaded, transfluid spurting into Ratchet's valve to mix with lubricant and leak slowly out.

Both panting, Ratchet stated, "You made a mess."

"Half of that is yours," murmured Sunstreaker, turning the medic's helm to lay a soft, slow kiss on his lips.

"You distracted me, so the mess is yours," argued Ratchet, although his spark wasn't really in it. He felt so sated and relaxed.

With a low chuckle, which Ratchet could tell the golden twin was smiling through, Sunstreaker reached up and undid the blindfold, stowing it in subspace for another day and drawing Ratchet into another kiss, feeling the healer's valve momentarily clenching down on him once more as they kissed.

"Another round?" Sunstreaker teased, pulling away to smirk.

"After," confirmed Ratchet, finding his legs turned to jelly as he tried to get up.

The younger twin steadied him, pulling out and placing his fingers under the junction of his lover's thighs to catch some of the fluid that gushed out, bringing it to his mouth and slowly sucking it off in full view of the other mech's optics.

"I said later. Now be a good mech and clean up, hmm?" Ratchet asked, closing his panel a little gingerly and walking over to the sink to clean up. He missed the predatory look Sunstreaker had as the mech came up behind him, dropping to his knees behind him. He yelped as a hot glossa licked the inside of a thigh where lubricant and transfluid had trickled down.

"I can think of a much better way of cleaning up," came the sinful purr.

Ratchet had one thought before being swept away in pleasure once more.

'_Dear Primus, these mechs are going to kill me from overloading!'_

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><p><strong>AN: Hey Kat….ya liked it? Think of it as 'Happy Birthday!' **

**I would LOVE reviews ^_^**


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